


Recovery

by The_Whip_Hand_81



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: 12 steps, Addictions, Anal Sex, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, F/M, Group Therapy, Hate, Life long friends, Multi, NYC, Reader Insert, Recovery group meetings, Sexual Frustration, Shameless Smut, Smut that comes out of nowhere smut, Smut to come soon, Stranded, Vaginal Fingering, Vulgar Language, You are the star, blizzard, deprived sex, forgive my grammar haven't done this in a while, friendships, meek reader, misfits - Freeform, multiple crushes, sexual tensions, talking helps but so does sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-11 09:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10461207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Whip_Hand_81/pseuds/The_Whip_Hand_81
Summary: You are a budding therapist training under your predecessors, Dr. Cumberbatch and Dr. Jackson, leading a weekly all-men's meeting for recovery from various addictions in the heart of NYC.A severe blizzard ascends upon NYC for two whole days during your meeting. What will happen? What can go wrong? Or, what can go right?[Collage for story: https://flic.kr/p/STHPCU]





	1. Addictions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prplprincez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prplprincez/gifts).



> First off, excuse my grammar for it has been many months since I've actually sat down and wrote ANYTHING. I have been struggling with depression, family sicknesses and work since the holidays. I've been trying to work things out in my head and heart and decided to sit down and pen this one. Hope it's worthy of your kudos and comments (negative or positive).
> 
> I hope you're all doing well and bear with me as I try to get back on track to writing things that make me happy again.

You wipe the opaque steam from your bathroom mirror and stare at your blurry reflection that stares back at you. A white towel wrapped around your chest and a white towel on your head, you sigh at your imperfections as you have every morning for the last several years. The fine lines at the corners of your eyes when you smile (so fine that no one but you see), the freckles that spot your upper arms and face in the oddest of areas- one being the tip of your nose. The three grey hairs you try to hide just above your right ear to keep the world from seeing how old you truly are (35 but have been told you still look in your 20s) and the hundreds of scars, big and small, scattered about on both the insides of your lower arms.

You are a recovering addict to physical pain and self-harm now working full time at an outpatient recovery facility in the heart of New York City. Since you were a teenager taking care of your parents’ depression and emotional distress they accrued from your delinquent older sister and her rebellious (and life-threatening) ways, you did not have an appropriate way to deal with such anxiety, emotional exhaustion and codependency with no one to turn to so you turned to the only thing you were sure about: making small cuts on your arms to give you a natural high and make you forget all the familial pains that lingered all around you. So gratifying was the pain of dragging a razor blade or broken piece of glass across your flesh that you began doing it more often. And when the emotional pain of your family got worse, the more dull the object of which you would cut yourself with; paper clip, a butter knife, a plastic bottle cap - you could turn anything into a sharp object if you applied enough pressure. It wasn’t until your grandmother caught you in her guest bathroom, mid-cut, using her Lady Remington shaver that you collapsed to the floor in a panic (and embarrassment) before they called 911 and hauled you away to a home for emotionally troubled teens. 

That was 20 years ago. 

Now, a woman in her mid-thirties who put herself through college and is studying to be a psychologist, focusing specifically on cognitive behavioral therapy, you are at the top of your game. You’ve been training beneath one of New York’s highest regarded psychologists, Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch. And “beneath” him is an understatement. You and your predecessor have been having a small, quiet relationship that you both keep hush-hush to make sure you never display any interest toward one another in front of other employees and patients. Which is to say isn’t very hard because Dr Cumberbatch is English and very rarely shares any of his emotions outright with anyone except, possibly, his own mother. 

It is a blustery and frigid winter morning as you dress in a white blouse and grey pencil skirt and black pumps. You style your hair in a boring ponytail when a pair of warm hands lightly touch your hips on either side, before encircling your waist and softly pulling you against its warm body. You sigh to yourself, calmly letting your body sink back against the warm flesh behind you. 

You purr as you look at your reflection being held by Benedict in the bedroom mirror. His bare arms still wrapped around you, his face nestled into the crook of your shoulder and neck. His deep voice vibrates into your skin and reverberates down to your core. 

“Must we go into work today, darling? It’s so cold out there. I’d rather be naked in bed with you than listen to some crazy people talk about their problems.” 

You shrug your shoulder away from his face and turn to face him, a bit offended “Need I remind you I was once part of those ‘crazy people’, Benedict?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, dear...you know what I meant,” he traces the side of your face with the back of his finger before tenderly replying, “I just get tired of listening to them every so often. I just want to take a sick day and forget about them, spend the day making love and binge-watching “Black Mirror” with you.” 

You melt at the romantic thought, taking his hand into yours and kissing his palm, “I wish I could, too, but these men need us. If not for us, who else do they have?” You let his hand drop and walk away to fetch your briefcase as Benedict watches you, displeased. 

Two hours later, you are behind the steering wheel of your red Nissan Maxima warming up the car when a bespectacled Benedict opens the passenger side door and slides in. He shivers, reaching the dashboard, raising the heat higher. You playfully laugh at him as he shoots you a look of annoyance. 

“What?” he chides, “I happen to be very cold - it’s 20 degrees out there, [Y/N].” 

You shake your head with a smile, “We’re only parked ten feet from the apartment.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” he mutters as you pull out of park and drive the twenty minutes to the recovery facility. 

You pull into the rented parking garage and park. Before exiting the car, you quickly gather your purse and briefcase behind you when Benedict’s authoritative tone alarms you, “Tell me the rules.”

You groan in protest as you go over ‘the rules’ nearly every day before entering the building, “Ben, please…”

“No, no. We must go over the rules so you mustn’t forget them.”

“I’ve been working here for three months now, Ben. I can handle whatever happens -”

He interrupts, “There are eight rules, what are they??” 

You let out an emphatic groan and began to recite the rules as if you memorized them like a school grade child, “Rule # 8: Never stay alone in the room with the patients unless you or Dr Jackson is with me. Rule #7: Never believe anything Tommy says. Rule #6: Don’t get emotionally close to Paul because he may misconstrue my professional feelings as adoration for him as he is desperate for love. 

“Very good. Go on.” 

“Rule #5: No matter what the circumstances, never compliment or praise Chris’ looks or physical being as he is a full blown narcissist and addict. Rule #4: Do not act in a condescending way or back Sebastian into a corner for he will become agitated and might go off…”

“Yes, go on.”

You continue, “Rule # 3: Do not let Robert run the meetings. Rule # 2: Do not let my own personal feelings mesh with the patients’ feelings..”

“And the most important rule of them all?” he raises his brow at you like a school teacher. 

You always exhale at the last because it will forever feel degrading and belittling, “Rule # 1: Always ask you or Dr Jackson what to do before doing anything.” 

“That’s right, my dear, because you are not yet experienced in the ways of therapy. You might mess up someone’s life with your poor decision-making..” he places a chaste kiss on your forehead before gleefully exiting the car, leaving you feeling - as every morning after the reciting of rules - an irresponsible child. 

***

Benedict briskly enters the building, briefcase in hand with perfect posture, flashing his employee ID to the lone security guard (just a white haired elderly man with a flashlight and oversized glasses and mustache) with you at his heels. The elderly security guard hollers to the both of you walking toward the elevator, “Some of your clients from the group meeting arrived earlier than usual, Dr. Cumberbatch. I just let them up since it was so darn cold out today.” 

“Very well,” Benedict enters the elevator, exhales uninterested as the doors begin to shut on you. Throwing your briefcase in between the doors making it open again as you run inside and shoot Benedict an angry look. 

“Really, Ben?”

“[Y/N], you know we’re not suppose to be seen with each other. I don’t want to give anyone the notion we’re seeing each other,” he presses the 10 button for the office, “I’m not your boyfriend while at work, remember?” 

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

The doors open at the 10th floor to the empty reception desk that hasn’t had a receptionist for years. Though one of the regular clients, Jeremy, likes to sit behind the desk with his feet up, ankles crossed on top, waiting for the doctors to arrive. Jeremy, a loud and crass man of 46 with a history of alcoholism wears the many of his life’s stresses like a roadmap of troubles on his tan face. His small bright blue eyes peeking through his rugged face and sandy brown hair with stubble on his face, there is a presence in him that you adored. Always been known to be a man’s man with blue collar man’s hands, Jeremy started drinking when he was ten when his mother made him the man of the house. Drinking quickly turned into a dangerous habit of driving and car accidents. It was when he nearly decapitated his young niece while driving and colliding with a tractor trailer when he realized he needed help. He checked himself into a sobriety facility upstate and they suggested he come to the recovery center in the city for constant sobriety checks. He has been sober for 15 years. 

Stepping out of the elevator, Benedict gives a small (fake) smile to Jeremy leaning back in the chair, hands behind his head. “Good afternoon, Jeremy. Early again, I see.” He continues to walk off toward his private office without missing a beat. 

“Sup, doc,” Jeremy replies with a sly smile as you nod your head once over to Jeremy, walking passed. 

Jeremy hollers to you as you walk to your own smaller office next to Benedict’s, “I was talking to you, doc!” 

You halt for a second and turn around, walking slowly back to the reception desk, “Jeremy, you know I’m not a doctor just yet, right?” you smile, sweetly. 

“Yeah, but you are. You’re sure as shit better than that dickhead, Cumberbatch.” 

You give him a genuine smile as you turn on your heels back toward your office, “Language, Jeremy, language.” 

A deep chuckle erupts from his chest, “You know you love it when I swear.” 

Honestly, you secretly DID love it when he swore. You loved when any man cursed and was blatantly crude,a real Alpha Male - the total opposite of your boyfriend, Benedict. But, that is a secret you’ll forever keep locked up in your head. 

Sitting on the floor outside your office door is Robert, the oldest, most seasoned member of your therapy group. He has his dark shades over his eyes, his brown hair tousled, his head limp to one side, hands clasped together on his lap, breathing softly. 

Robert is one of your favorite clients. Outspoken, blunt, severely sarcastic and sometimes pushy. Robert struggled with substance abuse nearly all his life until one too many times breaking into people’s homes while on hallucinogenic drugs became the norm for him. Robert did a lot of unsavory things to get the fix he needed. Selling himself to women (and men) for sex, stealing from friends and families homes, giving head to any man who would pay him 10 bucks for a dime bag. But he sobered up and has been clean for 25 years. When around Robert, you always feel a sense of protection and brotherly love from him. Benedict becomes jealous when Robert lingers around you for too long and intervenes to take you away. But, you know Robert is just being Robert: a big brother to his little sister which is calming to you since you always wanted an older brother.

You smirk as you rest your case next to the door, quietly, and sit next to him on the floor, fixing your skirt flat over your thighs. 

You stare at the side of his face, still smirking, “I know you’re not sleeping, Robert.” 

He responds still in position, “I know. Just keeping you on your toes, [Y/N].” He lifts up his head and smiles, cheekily, “How ya doing? Need anything? Coffee? Sandwich? Beer? I can send Jeremy to pick us up a six pack.” He shouts over you, “Yo, Renner! Six pack and sandwiches, stat!” 

In the distance, Jeremy replies, “Fuck yooou, Rob.”  
Robert brushes him off, “Whatever. What’s today’s meeting about?” 

You slowly stand up as good as any classy woman in heels and a skirt would and open your office door, “Oh, you know. The usual: feelings and such.” 

“Yuck. I hate that stuff. Hey, when are you gonna tell me about your new boyfriend?” Robert takes off his shades and looks up at you with those soulful brown eyes of his. 

You nervously stammer, “What? I don’t have a boyfriend!” 

“Uh, the new perfume and lipstick color tells me otherwise, honeybunch.” 

“The meeting starts in fifteen minutes. Will you set the chairs up, please and thank you?” you quickly shut the door. 

Robert shouts beyond the door, “I can’t believe you wore THOSE shoes with that skirt today, by the way!”

***  
Inside your dimly lit office, you sit at your desk, window blinds closed, all noises and distractions off as you close your eyes and breathe deeply. You have been doing this before every group meeting you have been attending since you first began working here with Benedict. The darkness and silence calms you, it helps you best prepare yourself for meeting with a group of men who have been through their fair share of Hell just like you. Sometimes you feel like you are way over your head being in a career that helps drag desperate men from the brink of suicide and death, taking in all their problems and trying to solve them. Benedict warns you daily to stay out of their personal lives and refrain from becoming too personal with the clients. You can’t help it. You were once like them; suffering alone and inside your own head with the world on your shoulders all the while trying to take care of those around you who didn’t care for you the same back. 

You pull your long sleeves over your wrists, making sure every inch of your inner arms are covered as you inhale and exhale. A call comes on your office phone and you press the speaker button. It’s Benedict, he’s the only other doctor/office on this floor nevertheless he consistently calls before every meeting to remind you of the same thing: “Remember, DON’T let them get to you. And let me walk out of my office first, it’s just official that way.” 

You press the button to hang up and sigh to yourself. ‘Don’t let them get to you’ in means of not getting too personal with them, not letting them inside your world, keep everything bland and professional. And letting him leave his office first? Well, that’s his own pride talking. He’s the head doctor watching over your group sessions so he gets to be the first to enter the meeting room. Your thoughts are interrupted by heavy feet and murmuring of deep voices walking passed your office door. ‘The guys are beginning to arrive,’ you think to yourself and stand up to straighten your pencil skirt. 

You listen for Ben’s door to open and the dignified steps he takes down the skinny hall toward the meeting room. Once you hear Ben’s voice welcoming the clients, you open your door and make your way down the hall toward the meeting with clipboard tightly grasped in hand. You stand behind the closed door to the meeting just for a moment to listen and gather the last of your thoughts. You knock and hear Ben delightfully say, “Oh, and there she is now. Come in, [Y/N].” 

You turn the doorknob opening the door into an agonizingly bright fluorescent-lit room with ten chairs in a circle, Benedict and Dr. Jackson sitting at one side of the circle with your empty chair beside Benedict. The other chairs filled (except one) with the same frequenters of this meeting. All eyes are on you as you awkwardly smile and give a small wave to the group, “Hello, all.” You make your way over to your seat beside Benedict. You sit as the men stare while you cross your bare legs. Benedict clears his throat, “Shall we begin introductions, then?” 

Robert lets his head fall back against the back of his chair in irritation, “Ugh, why must we always introduce ourselves before a meeting? We already know each other’s names. We’ve been coming here for the last 2 years for God’s sake.”

Benedict looks blankly as he explains to Robert, “Because it is not only customary to introduce ourselves, but it is also a courtesy for newcomers in case they should ever arrive.” 

Robert rolls his eyes, “Yeah, right. Newcomers. We haven’t had a newcomer since Baby Face arrived two years ago which, by the way, he’s late AGAIN. Someone should let his parole officer know. Can I?” 

Benedict sighs, already exasperated with the meeting, “Robert, do not concern yourself with Thomas’ absence. Start the introductions, would you?”

Robert runs a hand over his dark goatee and sighs, “Fine. My name is Robert. I’m a recovering drug addict. Clean for 25 years. I like long walks on the beach and sometimes I like to be the little spoon…”

“Robert, please!” Benedict interrupts. 

Dr. Jackson, a tall bald African American man with the only facial expression being a scowl speaks up in his usual scary calm tone, “Am I gonna have to escort you out of the room, Mr. Downey? Is this going to be a repeat of last Christmas?” His bulging eyes shooting daggers at Robert from across the circle. 

Robert blinks at Dr. Jackson a few times then relents, “Nah, I’m good.” 

Sitting to Robert’s left speaks a man with a soft voice, “Hello. I’m Paul and I’m a widow of 5 years now. I’ve been suffering from depression ever since. Even tried to, uh, kill myself twice. I am here because my therapist thinks I should be around more emotionally damaged individuals like myself.” 

“Oh, fuck you and your therapist! I’m not damaged!” yelled a long-haired man with facial stubble. 

You calmly speak to him, “Sebastian, it’s Paul’s time to speak. You’ll get your chance to speak.” 

Paul shakes his head, “That’s all right. I’m done anyhow.” 

Paul is a 47 year old man that has been battling severe depression since the untimely death of his wife five years ago. His wife, Amy, was killed during premature labor giving birth to their only son. Amy began hemorrhaging after giving birth to the baby and after hours of trying to find where the bleeding was coming from, she died on the table. Their son, Milo, died two days later due to complications of from prematurity. Paul has since attempted suicide twice. The first time while alone in his apartment swallowing drain cleaner and the second time while at his brother’s wedding OD-ing on a bottle of painkillers and champagne, passing out in front of hundreds of attendees during his Best Man’s speech. He has been coming to this group before you arrived two years ago. If he doesn’t have these meetings, he tends to stay home and wallow in his depression and sadness - a very dangerous situation.

You smile warmly at Paul before turning your attention back to a quietly agitated Sebastian who is thumbing through a magazine. “Sebastian?” you call to him gently, “Why don’t you go next since you want to respond to Paul.” 

Sebastian does not look up from the magazine, “Nope. That’s alright, [Y/N]. I’m good.” 

“Sebastian,” you softly respond, “you’re here for a reason and right now, that very reason is making you keep it inside. I want you to let that anger out in the safest way possible. We’ve talked about this.” 

He purses his lips and flings the magazine on the rug in the middle of the circle, “Great, okay, fine. I’m Sebastian, I’m here because the judge thinks I need to relax and stop acting on my instincts to punch people in the face. And I’m not emotionally damaged, asshole!” 

Benedict waves his finger in discipline, “Now, now, be more specific, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian exhales and rubs the back of his neck, “I’m here for anger management issues. The judge told me that if I keep attending these meetings, he’ll let me off light.” What Sebastian is mentioning is the handful of times he was locked up for starting fist fights with various authoritative figures. Like that time he took his nephew to a ball game and slugged an NYPD officer for bumping into his beer, spilling it onto him. Or the time he cold-cocked a firefighter when the firefighter tried to get him out of a small fire inside his studio apartment. While in denial, Sebastian has massive anger issues that are not safe to be around. “Can I stop talking now?” 

“If you wish,” you reply sweetly. Seb quickly flits his eyes to your small smile and back down to the rug in front of him. 

“I guess I’ll go next,” said another African American man in his late 30s, “I’m Anthony. I’m here because my wife is forcing me to be. She thinks I have a problem expressing my feelings no matter what feelings they are. She’s 5 months pregnant and she wants me to dedicate time to opening myself up before our daughter is born. I mean, I don’t think I have a problem, I think I’m just a regular dude who doesn’t like to share his feelings is all. I don’t know why she’s up my ass about it all the damn time….”

Paul sneers at him, sarcasm dripping off each word, “Oh, poor Anthony has to go home to his beautiful and caring pregnant wife every day. Cry me fuckin’ river, man.” 

“Paul, please let people express their feelings. This is difficult enough for Anthony. We are here to support him, not judge him,” you say as Paul looks at his booted feet in shame. 

“Sorry, [Y/N].”

Anthony has had some success since coming to these meetings. He has been victorious in some subjects when explaining his feelings toward world issues, politics or other people’s lives but never expressive on his own happenings. His wife promised him that if he doesn’t get his emotional feelings out soon, she would leave him and he would have to get visiting rights to see his own daughter. 

Jeremy pipes in, “I’m Jeremy and I’m a recovered alcoholic, sober 15 years and thankful for every one of them. Next!” 

A brawny sandy brown haired man with a nicely trimmed beard raises his hand, “I guess since the kid isn’t here yet, I’ll fill time. Hey, I’m Chris. I’m here because my therapist says that not only am I a certified narcissist but suggested I attend a 12 step meeting for Love and Sex addiction but those particular meetings weren’t my thing so I chose this one. It seems to be working, I guess. I haven’t had a decent lay in about 6 months which is terrible because I’m use to getting laid every night of the week.” Chris winks at you with that cocksure grin and continues, “But, uh, yeah. This place is good. Certainly isn’t all that bad with Miss [Y/N] being here.” 

Dr. Jackson speaks up to Chris, “Do you want to keep your dick, son?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I suggest you keep your mind on your recovery and not on [Y/N].” 

Breaking the tension of the room, the door slowly opens and in enters a rather younger man, certainly younger than everyone in the room.

“There goes BabyFace. You are severely late. Where have you been, young man?” jokes Robert. The young man with a full head of light brown and a backpack slung over one shoulder gracelessly trips over Anthony’s feet and fumbles his way over to the empty chair by Robert. 

“Hey, everyone, sorry I’m late,” the Baby Face awkwardly waves from his seat. 

Dr. Cumberbatch leans back in his chair with a stern face as he looks at the youngster, “This is your third and final lateness, Tom. This isn’t going to sit well with your parole officer if you have a fourth.” 

Tom’s voice cracks a little under everyone’s gaze, “I promise it was for a good reason.” 

“What was this reason and make it a good one this time?” Benedict folds his arms over his chest. 

“Well, if you must know, I was called to do a job for the Mayor, hacking into a subordinate’s laptop who is suspected of stealing the Mayor’s wife’s identity to which I was successful,” he gives a wide smile as everyone hisses and groans in disapproval. 

Benedict shakes his head in disapproval, “Telling lies again, are we, Thomas?” 

Chris shouts out, “Last week it was helping the governor backup his hard drive.”

“Don’t forget the time before that where he saved the NY Stock Exchange from being hacked into by terrorists,” added Robert.

“Or last month when he caught the online perverts who stole all those nude celebrity photos from being published to social media,” chided Anthony. 

“Oh, come on, fellas,” Tom tries not to whine, “you know I would never lie about that kind of stuff. I just can’t ever tell those things to my P.O. cause then he’ll tell everyone. I say it here because what’s said in this room, stays in this room.” 

The room erupts in laughter, leaving Tom looking as if he’s about to cry. You stand up from your seat, “All right, that’s enough...Hello? Enough!” 

When no one heard your small voice, Dr. Jackson takes over and stands up and shouts, “HEY! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Silence.

You clear your throat and slowly sit back down, looking at Tom, “Tommy, I’m sure whatever you’re doing that is making you late for this meeting is important but just try to make it on time next week, okay?” 

Tom bashfully looks at you through his lashes, “Yes, Miss [Y/N].” 

Meanwhile, Benedict shoots you a look of disappointment knowing full well that you will definitely hear about whatever you just did after the meeting adjourns. 

You stutter, “Uh, why don’t you introduce yourself, Tom?” 

Tom stands up as Sebastian muttered underneath his breath, “You don’t have to stand up, stupid.” 

Dr. Jackson shoots him a look of death before Tom begins, “I, uh, I’m Tom. Again, sorry for my lateness. I come to this room every week on orders from my parole officer and the judge. I’m trying to be a better person and not do illegal things like hacking or stealing people’s identities and grand larceny and all that bad stuff. So, thanks for having me...as always.” He sits down. 

Tom is a 20 year old supposed computer wiz, compulsive liar and child prodigy who has been arrested several times caught stealing priceless online information about the Higher-Ups and Rulers of NYC. He has also been known to somehow steal private information about the government without so much as trying very hard. The judge appointed him a parole officer and an agreement that he needs to stay out of trouble for at least ten years before his record is wiped clean again.

Robert sarcastically slow-claps, “Great speech, kid. It gets better every week.”

Dr. Jackson shifts in his chair, “As you all know, I’m Dr Jackson. I’m a former addict of drugs and alcohol over 40 years sober. After I went to prison for the last time, I decided to go back to school and become a therapist for men who were just put back on the streets after serving time. I’m here weekly to make sure you assholes aren’t out of step with Dr Cumberbatch or Miss [Y/N] here. So, if I wanna be real honest about this, I’m here to be the enforcer.” 

Silence clung in the air for a moment before Benedict cheerfully begins the meeting, “Ooookay. Now that we’ve gotten passed the introductions, let us get down to our share time --” 

Jeremy raises his hand, “Hey, um, why don’t we ever get to hear [Y/N] introduce herself, Dr. Cumberbatch?” 

Robert sits up, “I second that question.”

Your ears perk up at the sound of your name, you nervously chuckle, “Because I’m not a part of the group, Jeremy.” 

Paul asks with a brow raised, “Aren’t you?” 

“I agree. It’s not fair that we all have to introduce ourselves and we still haven’t heard her after two long months,” Chris looks at you, then your chest, then back at your face. 

Benedict presses his lips together, “Having [Y/N] introduce herself is not imperative to recovery and, therefore, should not be acknowledged.” 

You turn your head to look at him, your brows narrowed and stand up, ignoring his insult.  
“Hello, everyone. As you already know, my name is [Y/N]. I started working here three months ago fresh off of my internship at Bellevue Hospital. I am here to gain not only credit but experience in helping those who are in need of someone to understand them. To show you men that you are not alone in your recovery. I hope to be of some use to you all.” You smile indignantly at Ben as you sit back down, not caring what he’ll have to say to you about it later. 

Visibly bothered by your disrespect, Dr. Cumberbatch exhales, “Shall we move on now?” 

***

The five minute shares of personal heartache, victories, shame and self-doubt went on for an hour and a half when Dr. Benedict announced that the time for sharing had come to an end. After each member of the group read from the affirmations book and the 12 Promises, Dr. Cumberbatch assured them there were some light refreshments set up out at the reception desk by Jackson. Once the room filed out down the hall towards the smell of coffee and day old cookies, you and Benedict head toward your offices. 

Your hand on your doorknob, Benedict turns to you, “[Y/N], may I see you in my office for a moment, please?” 

You glance at the men who are drinking from foam cups and staring back at you, trying not to see the nervousness in your eyes. 

“Sure,” you reply calmly as you enter his much bigger office. 

The moment he shut his office door, Benedict tore into you once again sounding like a reprimanding teacher than a co-worker and boyfriend. 

“How can you be so foolish as to allow that idiot to spew his fables about being a part of the CIA and the like? AND you disobeyed my authority in front of them, standing up like that and telling them your life story!” 

“Tom is NOT an idiot, he is our client. He is here because he needs us not for you to disrespect him like that. If he didn’t want to be here, he would never show up so give him a break. And, yes, I ‘disobeyed’ you by introducing myself because Jeremy is right. Why can’t I speak up? I am part of this group,” your fists balled up in anger. You know the men are outside the door, listening intently at the not-so-quiet argument you are both having.

“Client, patient. Patient, client. No matter what you call them, they’re still defective members of society, [Y/N]!” he yells back unphased at what he just said.

You gasp at his brash comment, waking him up to his mean remark. 

He sighs, defeated, “Look, darling, I’m sorry. I just don’t want them to see me as someone else they can get over on. I want their respect is all.”

You fold your arms over your chest and angrily turn your head to look away. Benedict steps forward and grazes his thumb over your lips and looks down at you with soft eyes. His attitude changes gears from utter jerk to romantic.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he soothes you with his baritone voice as your eyes meet his sparkling greenish-blues, “This time next week, you and I will be far away from here in tropical San Tropez sipping pina coladas on a beach, half naked. Let’s not ruin our three month anniversary now. What do you say, love? Forgive me?” A smile curls on the edge of his lips making you melt. 

You bat your lashes up at him and bite your lower lip, “You’re forgiven.” 

Ben quickly kisses your lips and grabs his briefcase, “Terrific! I’ll be waiting in the car park for you, dear. Don’t dawdle, we’re having Thai tonight.” He briskly opens the door to see all 8 men glaring at him with furrowed eyebrows.  
“Gentlemen, until next week,” Ben nods his head in goodbye and hurries to the elevator. 

“What a dick,” Sebastian grumbles. 

As soon as he leaves on the elevator, you exit his office with your own briefcase in hand toward the exit. You feel dozens of eyes on you as they sip their coffee and eat stale cookies. You nervously smile at them, as you press the elevator button down. A thick silence hangs in the air when the elevator dings and the doors open. You step inside and wave them goodbye when Robert yells out to you, “I knew you had a boyfriend!” 

The doors close.

Chris and Sebastian lean against the reception desk as Jeremy sits at the floor to ceiling windows. Robert sits on the reception chair as Tom and Paul sit on the floor by the elevator. Anthony looks out the window by Jeremy and shakes his head in disbelief, “Can you imagine being in a relationship with someone like Cumberbatch?” 

“He treats [Y/N] like garbage around us, it makes you wonder how he must treat her when they’re alone,” Chris added. 

“I hated him since the moment I met him. I knew he was bad news,” said Jeremy, “the condescending piece of shit.” 

Tom munches on a cookie, “Yeah, she needs a man that’ll treat her right. A really nice guy with morals and shit.” 

“Who? You, Baby Face?” snickered Robert. 

Tom quietly shrugged to himself, “I dunno...sure, why not me?” 

Everyone laughs in his face. Chris is in near tears, grasping his left boob, “Oh, oh stop, please. My heart hurts! You’re gonna kill me!” 

Tom stands up, “Hey, I’m just as good a candidate to be her boyfriend than any of you clowns!” 

“Sure, you are, kid,” Paul assures him, “sure you are. Hey, have you ever been with a woman before?”

Tom becomes flustered, “Duh! Yes.” 

Robert spins in the chair, “What Paul really means is have you ever had sex before? Kissed a girl? Felt a boob? Had a chick go down on ya?” 

“You guys are assholes,” Tom grabs his backpack and presses the elevator button causing them to laugh some more. 

“I guess that’s a no!” Chris screams with laughter. 

Tom enters the elevator and gives them the double middle finger before the doors close. 

Once the laughter dies down, Chris makes a simple statement, “I know I’m a sex addict who likes to love ‘em and leave ‘em but I would totally fuck [Y/N] more than once. Right in her perfect ample ass.” 

“She sure does have a nice rack I’d like to titty-fuck one day,” Jeremy dreams out loud. 

“Okay, don’t be gross, all right?” Robert tries to defend your honor. 

Paul chimes in with a thousand yard stare, “She’s certainly the only one woman I’ve thought about since Amy’s been gone. Mostly while I’m in the shower.” 

“Really, Paul?” asks a disgusted Robert. 

“What about you, Sebastian? Any lusty thoughts over our group moderator?” Anthony asks. 

Sebastian takes the last swig of coffee from his cup and shrugs, “Meh. She’s all right.” 

“But you’d still do her, right?” someone asks. 

“Hell, yeah. I’d fuck her till she couldn’t walk straight,” he gives a small smile as everyone else laughs again. 

***********


	2. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if this storm ends?  
> And leaves us nothing  
> Except a memory  
> A distant echo
> 
> I want pinned down  
> I want unsettled  
> Rattle cage after cage  
> Until my blood boils
> 
> -Snow Patrol "The Lightning Strike"

*Six days later*

Talking to your mother on your cell as you walk up the front steps to your apartment building, you continue to explain to your mother your anniversary plans set to kick off tomorrow night after work. 

“Yes, mom, I heard about the blizzard warning for the Tri-State area tomorrow…. It’s not going to be a problem, it almost never is. Whenever the Mayor shuts down the city and closes federal buildings, it never turns out to be as bad as they say it will... Don’t buy into the media hype!” You enter the key into your apartment door and stop short. You bring the babbling phone away from your ear and listen to Benedict’s voice softly talking on the phone just beyond the door. Benedict wasn’t suppose to come over today, why is he here? And who is he talking to? 

You quickly open the door just in time to see Benedict hang up his cell and smile, “Darling, I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Mom, let me call you back,” you hang up, “Ben, what are you doing here? We aren’t suppose to see each other until tomorrow night at the hotel.” You walk over to him and give him a quick kiss him on the lips. 

“Just wanted to drop this off,” Ben digs into his slacks pocket and pulls out a hot pink G-string panty with a devilish smile plastered across his face. 

You feign shock speaking in a terrible cockney English accent, “Why, Benedict! How uncouth of you to give me such a bawdy gift!”

Benedict hands it to you and quickly pulls your hips into his, lust in his eyes as his face dips down to your neck. His voice vibrates your skin, “This is the only thing you are going to wear in our hotel room at all times starting tomorrow.” 

You purr in his ear as your arms wrap around his neck, “Starting in the Jersey hotel? But don’t you want to wait until San Tropez?” 

He presses his hips closer to yours, you can feel his erection on your thigh, “Mmmm, no.”

You suddenly snap out of the lusty moment, “What about the blizzard? Do you think it’s going to interfere with our flight the following morning?”

Ben brings you to the sofa and you both sit down, “So, here’s the plan: You go off to work tomorrow like it’s a regular day, take your luggage with you. I made sure that Dr. Jackson will be at the meeting, helping you in case they get out of hand. I’ll be staying home and doing some last minute running around for our things and head over to the hotel in Jersey. After you are through running the meeting, you grab your stuff and take a taxi to the hotel.”

“And why can’t I just go with you to the hotel? Why can’t you wait for me so we can leave together?” you ask again not understanding his reasons.

“Because, silly woman, I want the time to set up our room before your arrival,” he wriggles his eyebrows up and down. 

“I can’t wait!” you kiss him on his nose, shoot up from your seat and pull him up, “Now get out and go home. I don’t want to be tempted to sleep with you before our vacation. I’ve been saving up all my pent up sexual frustration for San Tropez - not even touching myself just for you...I’m just about ready to hump this doorknob - but I won’t!” 

Ben rubs his hands together, “My God, you’re a madwoman. I love it. I’m gone!” He runs out of the apartment. 

That night, you pack your rolling luggage case with several tropical outfits: a couple of long maxi dresses, a bikini, a few baby doll dresses, a nightie, sandals, pumps, flip flops, short shorts and crop tops and miniskirts with a couple sexy bras and panties thrown in. You smile as you slam the luggage closed and zipper it up. 

This is going to be one sexy tropical getaway. 

***  
Your alarm clock is going off. It’s buzzing that it’s 8am. You slam your hand down and groggily make your way out of bed and into the shower. After you shower and flip on the TV in your towel, you absent-mindedly listen to the news’ weather report while you dress in the other room, unable to hear what the local weather man was saying about the severe conditions in which the city will be in in the next several hours. You turn on your hairdryer when the most important part is spoken:

“...the city can expect up to 25 to 30 inches of snow accumulations with 50 mile per hour winds by 6pm this evening. The storm will continue until tomorrow night so be prepared to be hunkered down indoors for a while. The Mayor is advising everyone to stay in their homes, check on loved ones and pets. Do NOT leave your homes unless there is an extreme emergency. The Mayor has shut down mass transit in the Tri-State area for fear of people getting stranded on trains and busses. This is not a warning but a plea from the government to stay where you are and hold up until the storm is over. I repeat, do not leave your house or businesses after the hours of 12 this afternoon, there is a severe blizzard headed our way with snow accumulations of up to 25 to 30 inches that will blanket the city for the next 24 hours….”

Once dressed in a nicely pressed beige pants suit, you enter the living room again to shut the TV off and roll your luggage to the door. You glance out the window to see delicate little snow flurries falling and sarcastically chuckle, “Huh, some blizzard we’re having.” 

You pull on your trench coat and scarf, grab your luggage and wheel out of the apartment toward your car to head to the clinic for the weekly group meeting. 

***

You arrive at the tenth floor of the facility, rolling luggage in hand and an energetic smile on your face. The elevator doors open to the reception desk and Jeremy greeting you as he sits behind the desk as he always does. 

A wide smile on his lips crinkles his small blue eyes, then sits forward leaning on the desk to look over it, “[Y/N]! Well, well, what is this? Is that luggage I see?” 

“You are correct, sir,” you smile as you walk briskly toward your office down the skinny hall. 

“And where might we be going, may I ask?” he calls out. 

You playfully call back before shutting your office door, “No, you may not! Oh! And set up the chairs, please and thank you, Jeremy!”

Once you lock your office door, you turn on the dim light switch and jump with fright. Robert is laying on your leather couch, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses on his eyes, ankles crossed. He grumbles without moving a muscle, “Is that bag for going away with Dr. CabbagePatch tonight?” 

You place your hand over your heart, “Jesus Christ, Robert, you scared me half to death! You’re not suppose to be in here. If Benedict were here, he’d kill you. Wait- how did you get in?”

Robert rapidly shoots up to sitting position, speeding through his words as he always does so expertly, “Oh, you know, being a former drug addict, you learn a few things about breaking into places. Dr. C wouldn’t touch me. The most he would do is lecture me in that boring authoritative tone he uses when he needs to feel important - now THAT would kill me. And why are you avoiding my question?”

You roll the suitcase behind your desk and sit down, facing Robert, “Why are you here so early?”

“Why aren’t you answering my question?” he stares blankly at you.

“Why do you feel the need to ask personal questions?” you ask back.

“Is it wrong for me to be a caring and concerned citizen?” he interrogates. 

“Don’t you think you should worry about yourself, Robert?” you raise a brow.

“Are you afraid I’ll dig too deep and reveal something you already know about the good doctor that you’re not ready to see yet?”

“Who’s the doctor here?” you snicker. 

“It certainly isn’t CumberBunny, that’s for sure --” 

“HA! Got ya!” You raise your arms in victory, “I win, no more questions! Go help Jeremy set up the chairs for the meeting, please.”

Robert stands up and sighs heading toward the door, “Fine… but let me leave you with these parting words: it is illegal to sell sex toys in Alabama.”

You shake your head with a small smile as you prepare your clipboard for another meeting when your cell phone rings. You see it’s Dr. Jackson. 

“Hi, Samuel, what’s up?”   
You hear some static on his end, “[Y/N], I’m coming down from Nyack, but this storm has me driving with no visibility beyond the hood of my car. I was trying to make it to the meeting on time but it looks like I’ll be more than a little late, kid.”

You stutter, surprised at how nervous you got so quickly, “Late? Wait- storm?! It was barely snowing when I left my car a half hour ago,” you spin your desk chair around to face your large floor to ceiling window and gasp to see nothing but a blur of white outside. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!” you yell as if this were the first time you see snow in your entire life. 

Dr. Jackson reassures you, “Stay calm, you will be okay on your own, I know you will. I trust you.”

“TRUST ME?! IT’S THEM I CAN’T TRUST! Oh my God...My flight tomorrow morning isn’t going to make it out of the airport. Oh, no! Ben’s going to be waiting for me at the hotel tonight!” you panic as you pace the room. 

“[Y/N], you are going to be okay. If you guys get stuck, you’re in the right place. The facility is equipped with enough dorms and cots to sleep in if you should be snowed in. The kitchen is stocked with some frozen foods like Hot Pockets and pizzas, coffee, the vending machine is at your disposal and you have flashlights stored in the reception desk. You got this, kid. Make me proud. I’m hoping to make it over there by 6.”

“Oh, Sammy, please be careful and keep me updated on how you’re doing. I’ll be fine, I promise I’ll do a good job. I’m no longer freaking out...don’t worry about me. I got this,” you pretend to be brave. 

You hang up and immediately phone Benedict who doesn’t pick up your call, sending it straight to voicemail. Perhaps he is driving in this snow, you think to yourself as you shove the phone into your blazer pocket and grab your clipboard. You begin to hear their heavy footsteps passing your door, some grumbling about the cold as you pull your sleeves over your wrists, hyping yourself up. 

Walking down the skinny hallway toward the room, you keep running affirmations through your head: I am going to do great. I will chair a wonderful meeting. I am strong and brave. 

You put your hand on the doorknob to the meeting and take a deep breath. You’re first meeting alone in a room filled with some rather interesting (and rather hot) men.   
You can do this…  
*****

Slowly, you turn the doorknob as you push open the door. All eyes on you as you step inside the room with a fake smile of confidence. You clear your throat and sit in the middle of two empty seats that would have had Benedict and Dr. Jackson. ‘Maybe these seats will act as a buffer between me and the guys,’ you try to convince yourself as your eyes scan the room. Everyone is here. 

You press your lips together tightly and smile, “I’m glad to see everyone here despite the weather we’re having. Thank you all for coming out. It’s great to see you all.” 

Each of the men are lazily slouching in their chairs with discontentment on their faces. 

Jeremy speaks up, raising his hand, “Hey, Doc, should we discuss the sleeping arrangements before or after the meeting because, just so everyone knows, I brought my own sleeping bag with me so I won’t need to bunk up with anyone.” 

“Sleeping bag? Why did you bring your sleeping bag with you? Do you need to sleep here tonight?” you ask, stupidly confused. 

Some men chuckled at your innocently dumb question.

“Dr. [Y/N],” Tom asks gently, “don’t you watch the news? There’s like a terrible blizzard coming our way and it’s going to be the worst in decades. Isn’t that why you packed a suitcase?” 

You crease your brows, “No..who told you I had a suitcase?”

He points to Robert, sitting next to him, whose shoulders collapse in defeat, looking back at Tom, “Really, BabyFace? Snitches get stitches, you know that right?”

You quickly talk over him, “No. That suitcase isn’t for the blizzard, Tommy.”

“Were you going somewhere with Dr. Cumberbatch?” Chris raised a brow with a smile on one side of his lip. 

“What do you mean, ‘were,’ Christopher? Why are putting it in past tense? And I’m not discussing my personal life with the group,” you wave him off. 

Anthony blurts out, “Is that why he isn’t here?”  
Paul shakes his head, “I bet it is,” he turns to Sebastian who is sitting next to him, “Can you believe this?”

Sebastian shrugs his shoulders, not caring as he looks down at his phone. 

“Seriously, it doesn’t matter where I’m going with whom. We’re no longer going to discuss this matter --” 

Jeremy leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, “[Y/N], we know you’re sleeping with him. There’s nothing wrong in admitting that. Everyone needs a good fucking every once in awhile and we think you deserve it the most.”

“You have it all wrong. ALL WRONG,” you defend yourself, “none of you know what you’re talking about.” 

Anthony takes the helm of the meeting, while practising how to deal with feelings, “Why don’t you tell us how you’re feeling right now? I bet you’re feeling all types of anger and shame and possible guilt.” 

You guffaw, “What in the world are you talking about? Shame and guilt? Because it’s my superior that I’m sleeping with?” 

Paul stands and points, “AH-HA! We knew it!” 

Then Tom reveals what was suppose to be kept secret, “Because his wife will find out.” 

Robert slaps Tom in the back of the head, “Stitches, kid, stitches.”

All the muscles in your face drop, letting your mouth hang open as you look at Robert’s face. His usual carefree facial expression turns into big brown puppy dog eyes seeing you like this. Your eyes well up and you take in a sharp deep breath, chin held high, “This is no longer a discussion.” You try to suppress the anger and rage brimming within you as you try to think straight. ‘Are they right? Is Benedict married?’ you ask yourself. 

You take out one of the readings for the day, your voice trying not to tremble, “Who would like to read the 12 Steps, please?” 

As Paul slowly raises his hand, your phone vibrates in your blazer pocket. You immediately jump out of your chair and fly out of the room clutching your cell as you see it is Benedict finally returning your call. You race down the hallway toward your office with the group quickly tip-toeing behind you to listen. 

You fling open your office door and slam it, “Benedict?”

“Darling! I finally got a hold of you!,” he says cheerfully, “Are you all right?”

“I need to Face Time with you, Ben,” you say adamantly.

“Oooh, can’t wait for tonight, can you? Wait- why did you pick up your phone? You’re suppose to be chairing the meeting.”

“Are you safe inside the hotel room?” 

“Yes, wh-”

“Face Time me right now,” you hang up and wait, pacing the room back and forth. 

Your phone goes off; Benedict is calling you via video chat. You answer quickly without any reservations you exclaim, “Are you married?!” 

Benedict’s mouth drops but he tries to catch himself and relaxes, “What? Don’t be absurd -” 

“You’re not going away with me, you’re getting away from your wife!” you yell at the screen of your phone.

A pause.

Benedict stutters, “B-but surely you knew I was married!” 

You can hear Paul yell on the other side of your door, “ASSHOLE!” And his head bang against it from Robert slapping him. 

You stomp your foot, “How dare you lead me on, thinking that you were single and actually interested in my career! Why would you do this to me?!” a tear rolls down your cheek.

Ben simply laughs and nonchalantly gives you a speech, “Career? Oh, my dear sweet [Y/N]. You’re not cut out for psychotherapy. You haven’t the brain nor the capacity to see that those men there are a bunch of helpless wanderers that are never going to get better with your meetings. With the way you are running them, I wouldn’t be surprised if they all relapsed into whatever they’re there for. Frankly, [Y/N], you are way too sensitive to be working in that environment. I’m surprised you lasted this long working there without you cutting yourself again --” 

You gasp, knowing the group heard your secret that you have been covering up with long sleeves, sweaters and blazers since you began working here, “You….I don’t know what to say...but...why?” 

“Why?” he repeats self-assuredly, “because you were there. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I can write you a wonderful letter of recommendation when I get back to work--”

“And you’re firing me….wow...real class act,” you avert your eyes to let another teardrop. 

“Not firing you, darling. Letting you grow and find yourself a more suitable career.” 

You nod, “Okay. I’ll take your letter of recommendation. I’ll take it and shove it up your pastey white asshole, you fucker!” You hang up and throw your phone across the room and let out a monstrous scream of hurt and deceit. 

The men’s ears are all pressed against your office door when you open it, making them fall into your room, toppling over each other - except Sebastian who was casually leaning against the doorjamb, looking at his phone. 

Jeremy stands up first brushing his shoulders off, pretending he didn’t hear anything, “Uuh, everything okay in here?”

You raise your chin high and wipe the tears from your eyes, “Oh, yes, Jeremy. Everything’s wonderful…” you walk toward your large windows to see the night sky turned white from the whipping winds and blur of snow, “I was just planning our blizzard slumber party.” 

Robert jumps to his feet, shouting with excitement, “THAT’S MY GIRL!” 

You have a lot of planning to do… 

 

***

You spin around to meet the faces of your group and clap your hands once, “Okay! This is what we’re going to do. First, we have our usual Friday night meeting.” The men groan.   
“Once the meeting is over, we take out half the chairs from the room and bring in the small table from my office. Some of us will set up the table with whatever food and drink we can jimmy out of the vending machines. The rest of us will set up the dorm rooms for sleeping conditions, set up the cots and gather pillows and blankets. It’ll have to be two cots to a dorm since we only have 4 tiny rooms and seven men. It’s up to you boys to figure out who gets the privilege to sleep alone in the last dorm room. ”

“Where will you be sleeping,[Y/N]?” asked Anthony. 

“I’ll be sleeping in my office. All right, so, let’s get this meeting back on track so we can party. What do ya say?” 

Everyone files back into the room and sits, the meeting begins but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think about is that heartless user, Ben, and what his wife looks like. As Chris shares a story about a family gathering last week, your mind concocts a vision of his wife, ‘She’s got to hideous to cheat on her with me, I bet.’ 

“Right, Doc?” 

Jeremy’s voice snaps you out of your imaginative thinking and you see all eyes on you, waiting for an answer. 

“Wha-huh? What was the question again?” your face red, pretending you misheard the question the first time. 

Jeremy repeats, “Robert thinks blondes have more fun but I’d like to think brunettes are sexier and even a lil more kinkier than that…”

You shake the confusion from your head, “Wait - why are we talking about that?”

Robert shrugs, “Because you seemed to have stopped paying attention about a half hour ago when I brought up ‘vajazzling’ and didn’t blink an eye.”

You rub the temples of your forehead and close your eyes, “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just...I’m just having a difficult time concentrating right now.” 

“Then let’s end the meeting and start the party,” Robert blurts out.

You shake your head in disapproval, “No, you need to make a motion first --”

Robert yells out, “I make a motion to end this meeting and party!”

Chris pipes in, “I second that motion!” 

You sigh, “Fine, all in favor for ending this meeting to party, raise your hand.”

All the men raise their hands, even the quiet Sebastian as he looks down at his phone. 

You stand up and announce, “Great. Here’s what you guys are gonna do: Clear out this space, bring out some chairs and bring in the table from my office. I’ll see what I can do about food but, before I do that, I’ll need to change,” you turn to leave when Paul calls out.

“Change? For what?” 

“Well, I brought my suitcase for a vacation and I’m going to wear my clothes for a vacation. This,” you gesture around the room with a half smile, “IS my vacation.” You leave the room go into your office, leaving them curious and excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut will keep building so stay tuned. =)


	3. HEAVYDIRTYSOUL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you save my heavy dirty soul from me?  
> -Twenty One Pilots
> 
> Almost everyone's aching for a piece of you but will you give it to them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song "Everlong (acoustic)" by The Foo Fighters.  
> Trust me.   
> https://youtu.be/OgMkST2rUR8
> 
> And this link to your outfit: http://flic.kr/p/Tq2ZyD

Once inside your office, you pull out a gem of a tropical outfit - a short tight wrap dress- a white long sleeve top with a plunging neckline and a high-waisted skirt with green leafy print. The dress hugs you in all the right places and even gives a little peep of between your thighs, if you sit the wrong way. Of course, this dress was suppose to be saved for dinner on the island with Benedict but now it will be used here, at the clinic with a group of defectives...defectives like yourself. 

You enter your small office bathroom to apply au natural makeup (a little bit mascara and soft pink lipstick) in the mirror. When you lift your freshly waxed leg over the toilet to smooth on some coconut body lotion (because, hey, you’re on vacation) the power goes out, leaving you in utter darkness. You shriek with panic when a few moments later you hear Tom knocking on your office door a few feet away. 

“You okay in there, Miss [Y/N]?!” in that loveable squeaky voice. 

“Uh, yeah. What happened?” you reply.

“The blizzard winds must’ve knocked some power lines out along the neighborhood. I’m gonna see what I can do about the wiring and stuff. Maybe find something for light.”

“Thank you, Tommy, yes, please.” 

“Okay, I’m leaving you a small flashlight by the door so whenever you’re ready to come out, it’s here.” 

“Thank you, sweetie,” you smile in the dark as you try to blindly feel around for the office door. 

You can hear the murmurs of the men on the other side of the door complaining about no heat nor lights. You open the door a crack to feel for the light and grab it. Closing the door, you shine the small LED light to your desk and began rifling through your drawers for anything that might help the group. You found a pack of chocolate chip cookies, a box of Earl Grey tea and a tiny bottle of vodka your brother gave you last holiday. You take these items with you slowly down the empty dark hall when you notice orange flickering lights coming from the crack of the opened meeting room door. You scream, “FIRE!” and run toward the orange-lit room. You swing open the door and see there is a small fire contained safely within a garbage can with the guys sitting around it on top of pillows, looking at you with a mix of strangeness and awe at how much you’ve changed. 

“I thought the room was on fire!” you say, exerted, as you take a slow (skillful not to show your goodies) seat on a pillow between Tom and Chris. 

You sit with your legs to the side as you try to pull the hem of your skirt over your thigh, feeling all eyes on you. You give an awkward smile, “So! Let’s talk. Doesn’t have to be meeting related or boring recovery stuff. Anyone suggestions or topics?" 

“How about we talk about that slammin’ body of yours?” Chris looks down your cleavage causing your face to become flustered. 

Jeremy speaks up for you, “How about showing some respect?” 

You ignore Chris with plea in your voice, “Sebastian? Want to help get this conversation rolling?” you look over to him who, as usual, is on his phone. 

He casually shakes his head, “Nope,” his eyes never leaving his phone screen. 

You sigh to yourself when you realize this might be the most boring shut-in slumber party ever when Paul gently mentions, “I have my guitar with me. I can play something if you want.” His blue eyes twinkling at his own suggestion, hoping you’d say yes.

You enthusiastically agree, “Oh my gosh, yes! Of course! Please.” 

Robert’s head falls back with disappointment, “UGH!” 

Paul pulls out his acoustic guitar and situates it on his lap before tuning it up and gently strumming the strings, starting the song. It is one of your favorite songs, “Everlong” by The Foo Fighters. One of the only songs that can put you into a state of arousal. Paul sings lowly, gently and sensually as he plays and sings to you and only you. You uncomfortably shift in your seat on the pillow, hoping it doesn’t get soaked. Watching Paul play, his masterful fingers strumming the cords and his voice singing is making your head swing. You bite your lower lip as you notice all eyes are on you watching you feel uncomfortable. And you don’t care. 

Once the song ends, you clap your hands (along with some sarcastic claps), “That was...amazing, Paul. Really. Thank you so much.” 

“You really liked it?” his shy eyes meeting yours with a small smirk.

“Very much so.” 

“I was hoping you would...it is one of my favorite songs.” 

You gasp, “Mine, too!” 

“I had a feeling it would be,” he gives you a look of assurance...like he knows it turned you on. You quickly think of something to say and look down at what you brought to share. 

“Oh, I found some things in my desk, if anybody wants some.” 

Tom exclaims, innocently, “Oh! Cookies!” he takes the bag and rips it open making the guys laugh. 

“Aw, you remembered to bring cookies for the kid. That’s so sweet of you, [Y/N],” Robert sarcastically chuckles. 

“Shut up,” Tom embarrassingly chomps on a chocolate chip not meeting your eyes. 

“Nobody give this kid warm milk or he’ll fall asleep before the night’s over,” Chris jokes. 

“FUCK YOU!” Tom yells as he stands up and throws the cookies at a laughing Chris. 

You stand up with him, “That’s real mature, Chris. How old are you? Sixteen?” you shake your head in disgust. 

“I’m leaving,” Tom grabs his backpack when you stop him, touching his shoulder.

“Wait! You can’t go. It’s too dangerous out there!”

“So? Nobody wants me here anyhow.” 

“Yes, we do. Tom...fine... at least help me gather some food in the kitchen before you leave,” you come up with an idea, looking back at the guys, then back at Tom “...there’s something I want to tell you.”

“Um...okay, I guess.” 

You lead Tom down the hall to the kitchen on the other end of the hall quickly whispering to Tom as you get further and further away from the room, “We’re going to stop those guys from teasing you about your age and sex life tonight.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just follow my lead. I know this’ll work…” you tell him as you enter the small kitchen. You can hear quick tip-toeing of some guys following not too far behind when you swiftly pull Tom into the food pantry with you, shutting the blinder doors. 

“What the hell are we doing?” he nervously whispers in your face as you whisper into his ear, trying not to let the eavesdroppers hear. 

“We’re going to pretend you’re having sex with me in the closet,” you smile when you hear Tom hastily unbuttoning his jeans. You slap his hands and whisper, “No! No! Put that thing away - I said pretend!” 

“Oh, sorry...I’m sorry…”

“Nevermind. Just play along…..” you whisper before you say loud enough for others to hear, “Okay, Tommy, but make it fast before anyone hears us.” 

“Uuuh, uh-okay...baby…” he was nervous and clearly didn’t know what to do. 

You roll your eyes and whisper into his ear, “You need to make them believe this. So, please forgive me if I cross any lines…” 

You grasp Tom closer to your body and begin grinding into his growing jeaned erection, making him whimper. You gasp, “Oooh, is this for me? Oh, my...you’re so much bigger than I thought you’d be, Tommy.” 

Tom’s breathing is labored as you grab his hand and place it on one of your breasts to squeeze. “Oh, God,” he blurts out, trying to hold onto his already surfacing orgasm.

“Come on, baby...tell me what you want,” you act out while grinding into him. 

And, out of nowhere, a voice you’ve never heard come from his throat, deep and demanding, “I want to feel that tight pussy around my cock.” 

You truly gasp in shock, a bit turned on as well, “Tommy!” 

“Call me Thomas,” he commands as he bucks his hips up into you. 

You needed this to end before you got carried away, you didn’t want to take advantage of him any longer. You needed to end this quick and make it sound real. And you know the one thing that drive men over the edge, the one thing no man can resist. You slowly lick the shell of his ear while moaning seductively making Tom shiver with a long loud moan as he came in his jeans. “Fuuuuuuuck!” 

You giggle at a job well done and turn around to rummage through the condiment pantry shelf behind you. You find a jar of mayonnaise, dip your finger in and smear a small dot of mayo on the edge of your lip and exit the closet. You encounter Chris, Anthony and Jeremy standing at the doorway, mouths agape as you wipe the fake cum off your lip and lick it with a wink and a smile. A moment later, a disheveled Tom exits the pantry with a cocky grin on his face, shoving a bag of cookies and chips into Chris’ chest, “Gentlemen,” and walking back to the meeting room. The men standing in shock. 

***


	4. Bold Blotto Bimbo: Bustin' Nuts in the Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to have a good time  
> Can't I have fun for the rest of my life...
> 
> Oh, yes, we all need someone  
> But we say we don't need no one  
> Yes, we all need someone  
> But sometimes we need that interference

You smile to yourself on a job well done as you reach Benedict’s office door. The flashlight in your hand stops at the door, and you find yourself standing and staring at the locked doorknob. Suddenly, a voice comes from the darkness not too far away, “I can pick that lock for you, if you’re interested.” It’s Robert, he had just come out of the bathroom. 

You feel your chest heavy with uneasiness, “You know...I’ve never really stayed in his office longer than what he allowed. He was always rushing me out as if I would find something incriminating.” 

Robert eases passed your shoulder and kneels by the doorknob, studying it closely and brings a credit card between the door and frame, “Let’s do some sleuthing, shall we?” He jimmies the card around until he hears a click and pushes the door open. Robert enters the office first and points his cell phone flashlight around the room, “Wow...his office is just as distasteful and boring as his personality. Yuck!” 

Benedict’s office walls are white with three large famous abstract paintings hung side by side above a plush leather couch and glass coffee table. Robert sneers at them, “Looks like shit smeared on canvas.” 

You finally enter the room and flash your light at his desk while Robert opens an unlocked filing cabinet and busies himself reading patients’ files. You walk over to the desk and sit, smelling his cologne that is lightly rubbed onto the desk chair. You close your eyes and inhale that scent you use to love so much and now only reminds you of lies and deceit. 

Robert finds his profile and shines his light onto the paper, reading it aloud, “‘Mr. Downey appears to suffer from post traumatic stress disorder and severe depression from years of psychological damage under the influence of narcotics.’ That’s not true. I suffer from depression only in the presence of Dr. CucumberPatch because it gives me something fun to do...next week I was planning on faking a fun new disease he’s never heard before….Repetitive Butt-scratching syndrome or a rare case of ‘Count Choculitis’. You know, just to keep the meetings fresh and exciting.” He flashes the light over to you, wondering why you’re so quiet. You’re staring at a framed black and white photo of Ben wearing a tux holding a young brunette in a white gown, kissing beneath an oak tree that was hidden inside one of his desk drawers. His face falls a bit and walks over to you, knocking over an expensive vase off the desk to make room for his butt to sit down. 

He sighs, “You know, you are worth WAY more than you give yourself credit for. That slime ball isn’t worth a single damn tear from those pretty little eye sockets of yours.”

You let a sob out and pull it back together, “I know. But, still. I loved him and...he didn’t love me back.” 

Robert frowns looking down at you, “You want me to lace one of his bottles of booze with laxatives? I’ll do it. You know I will.” 

“No…” you hunch over and start to cry into your hands, sobbing, “After everything I’ve gone through, after all the cuts and abuse and depression, I thought that finally - FINALLY - someone came along and saved me from myself. I thought he was the one. I thought he was the one perfect memory that I’d always have until the day I died. Something to hold onto when I was sad or scared or angry with the world; Ben was my one good thing, my one good memory out of a life of self-hatred and self-denegration. My one true thing.” 

Robert exhales and tightens his lips before being completely candid with you, “Do you want to know my one good thing? That one good memory I have any time I’m down and out? Any time I want to fall off the wagon and feel like a piece of shit under some asshole’s shoe? Coney Island. When I was a boy, my mother and father would take me to Coney Island. Of course, it was always after they’d have a huge fight in front of me so they’d feel bad and take me down to the boardwalk, buy me a couple Nathan’s hotdogs and give me tons of money to spend on carnival games on the boardwalk. When I turned into an obnoxious teenager, I realized they were only trying to buy my love and adoration just so they’d get to fight each and make themselves feel better about themselves. I stopped visiting Coney Island for 15 years because, by that time, I was only interested in getting high and scoring the next high. Didn’t care who I was with, what I was doing to get it or where I was. I lost that good thing for many years. And, in turn, lost myself. It wasn’t until last summer that I revisited Coney Island, clean and sober, and for the first time in over a decade….I was at peace with myself. At who I had become at that very moment. That that place, that beach, that boardwalk, all those fights my parents put me through is a part of who I am today. I can’t deny it and I won’t any longer. I took back that beach and reclaimed it as my own again. Coney Island is my one good thing, my one true thing. Don’t let Dr. Kumquat-snatch take those few fleeting memories of bliss away from you. It’s who you are. Your scars you’re always hiding, that’s who you are. You are [Y/N]. You are OUR [Y/N]....” he pauses and looks into your eyes with almost a trembling chin, “You’re my [Y/N].” 

Suddenly, the lights flicker back on the ceiling. You notice Robert’s eyes are a little red, as if he were holding back tears and clears his throat. He jumps off the desk and turns away, thinking you hadn’t seen, “Ah, and that’s our cue to head back to the party!” 

A half smile forms on your lips, “Not without some provisions.” You walk over to his tall liquor cabinet and find that it is locked. You look at Robert for help on opening it. He blankly picks up a heavy paperweight and hurls it into the glass liquor cabinet. 

“I could’ve done that!” you laugh as you carefully gather bottles and bottles of liquor into your arms, Robert taking a few to help. 

Before exiting the room, you twist off a top of Jack Daniels Apple whiskey and chug half the bottle, Robert’s eyes bulging in surprise. “Hey, sorority girl, save some for the party.” 

“WOW!” you tip to the side, already drunk, “That shit goes straight to your head.” 

You walk out side by side down the hall back to the room when Robert asks, “You didn’t really have sex with BabyFace, did you?” 

“NAH!” 

“Oh, good.” 

*****

By the time you reach the end of the hall, you drank the rest of the whiskey all by yourself, springing into the party with a huge smile, “WHO WANTS TO PAAAARTYYY?!” 

You and Robert bring the eight bottles of various booze to the table as all the guys go clammering for some. Everyone except Jeremy. He is standing by the doorway, leaning against it watching the table from afar. You walk over to him as best you can without drunkenly tripping over your own feet, you lean against the wall next to him, “No libations for you, sir?” 

Jeremy keeps a locked eye on the drinks, “No, thanks. I’ve had enough drinks to last me the rest of my life. Sober, remember?” He looks down at you, “You’re not, though. Be careful. Alcohol makes a person do some stupid shit you might regret later. Trust me, I know.” 

You smile up at him, “Aw. You like me,” you giggle like an idiot. 

“Well, yeah, we all do. Some more than others.” 

You step up to his face and look up beneath lashes, arching a brow, “Are you one of those ‘some more than others’?” 

Jeremy inhales and exhales with a smirk, “Don’t drink too much, [Y/N]. That’s all I’m sayin’.” 

Just when you’re about to quip back with something partially sexual (at least, it sounded like that in your head), you jump at the sound of furniture being thrown. You turn to look across the room, Sebastian just threw a chair and is now on top of Anthony's back, choking him with a cell phone charger cord. 

“SEBASTIAN!!” you run over to help Chris and Paul get him off of Anthony’s back. “WHAT THE FUCK, SEB?!” 

Sebastian straightens out his short ponytail and denim jacket, rage in his eyes, “That asshole didn’t want to share his phone charger with me! I only wanted to borrow it for ten minutes!” he yells as Chris and Paul hold him back. 

“HE’S A FUCKIN’ PSYCHO!” Anthony shouts back, soothing his neck. 

“I’ll show you a fuckin’ psycho!!” Sebastian tries to get at him but you jump in front of Sebastian’s chest.

“Hey! HEY! Look at me, Seb! Down here! Look at my eyes.” 

He reluctantly looks down at you, you continue, “Let’s take a walk. Blow off some steam. I need someone to help me gather blankets anyhow.” 

Sebastian shoots Anthony the evil eye, “Fine!” He heads out ahead of you. 

You scurry alongside him as he looks down at his phone that isn’t fully charged. 

“You know, Sebastian, we really need to work on your anger management issues. You would think that all those seminars I held about it, you’d be getting better but you’re actually getting worse --” you see him ignoring you because he is looking down at his phone and you fly into a rage, “WHAT THE FUCK IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU’RE LOOKING DOWN AT YOUR GOD DAMN PHONE ALL THE TIME!?” 

You angrily swipe it from his hand and look at the screen; it’s a photo of you that you posted on Facebook a few weeks ago, “Huh?” confusion leaves your lips. Before you know it, Sebastian’s big hand is wrapped around your throat as he shoves you back into a small dark dorm room. He presses you up against the farthest wall with one hand and snatches his phone with the other. Sebastian sees the shock and confusion in your eyes and begins to explain by showing you his phone screen with hundreds of thumbnails of you saved to his phone. He swipes through photo after photo of you throughout the years, “THIS is what I’m always looking at - YOU!” 

Your eyes widened as you struggle to speak, his hand still around your neck, “B...but why? I thought you hated me..”

Sebastian’s lips graze the shell of your ear, gruffly breathing, “I don’t hate you, [Y/N]. I’m obsessed with you,” he presses his rock hard body into yours up against the wall, loosening his grip on your neck but keeping his hand there. 

The alcohol in your bloodstream is serving as both a relaxant and arouser. Heat floods between your thighs as your breathing hitches. You lick your lips and stare into his dark, narrowed eyes, “Why did you keep this from me?” 

“What am I gonna tell you - ‘Oh, hey, I can’t stop looking at your pictures and jerking off every night while looking at them’?”

The alcohol has awoken a beast within you. You smile slyly and look up at him, “You jerk off to my pictures every night?” 

He licks the corner of his lips as his eyes look over your lips, “Yeah….” his chest heaving faster and faster. 

Your deviant eyes lower to his swollen package and your hands move freely down to his belt buckle as you look back up at him, “Have you ever thought about getting some help?”

Sebastian grunts, “Yeah..”

You unzip his tight jeans and stick your hand into his hot jeans when a gasp comes from his mouth, “I can certainly be the help that you seek.” You pull out his hard veiny dick; long and beautiful and tight with blood. It’s pulsating in your hand, warm and throbbing. You start pumping slowly, keeping your eyes latched into his as you do so. He throws his head back and closes his eyes for a moment before tightening his grip around your neck again and seeing your expression. You’re smiling and now so is he. 

“You’re kinkier than I ever dreamed you’d be, [Y/N],” he hisses out your name as you pump his engorged member faster with a firmer grip. 

“FUCK!” he seethes as you go for it faster and faster, pre-cum dripping from his tip, you use it as lubricant. You can feel the walls of your cunt tightening harder than his grip around your neck. You can feel you’re about to explode when Sebastian bucks his hips into your hand and shoots a hot load onto the floor by your feet with a languid moan.   
Sebastian loosens his grip on your neck and lets you go as he stuffs himself back into his jeans. You wipe your hands on an old bed sheet laying around and see what you’ve never saw before: Sebastian smiling. 

“Is that a smile I see?” 

He bashfully nods, “Yes…”

“Huh, you should do that more often --the smiling not the hand job part,” you joke. 

“Thanks for...that,” he nervously says before picking up a pile of blankets from a cot and leaving the room. 

You think to yourself, ‘Maybe that’s all he needed. A lil lovin’ and a lil hand job.’

****


	5. Helping the Needy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more "therapeutic" trysts during your drunken stupor. 
> 
> What can possibly go wrong?

You enter the party room after Sebastian and everyone immediately notices a change in Sebastian’s behavior; he’s smiling and making eye contact with everyone who talks to him. 

At the table, you pour yourself another drink when Robert comes up to you, “It seems your ‘pep talks’ are really working for these guys, [Y/N]. What’s your secret, girlfriend? Dish.” 

You give him a look of annoyance, because you knew that he knew what was going on while you’re out of the room, “Don’t judge me -” 

Robert holds his hands up in defense, “Hey, I'm the LAST person on earth to judge anyone. I once sucked a guy off for a dollar inside a corn maze while his wife and kids were running around looking for him back in ‘98...I was hard up for cash, if you can imagine. Coke is a VERY expensive drug, every penny counts.” 

You shake your head, “Okay, okay! Too much information!” Robert playfully pushes you with his shoulder and winks at you. 

Then you hear a confrontation across the room, Paul’s voice is raised talking to Anthony, “You’re wrong! Your wife is insanely in love with you, that’s why she makes you attend these meetings. She wants you to get better, you idiot! What other person in your life is going to use children as collateral to force you to do something to better yourself but your wife?!” 

You and Robert walk over to the commotion and you ask, “What’s going on?”

Paul combs his fingers through his hair, trying to control his emotions, “This moron finds his wife’s so-called ‘nagging’ unfounded and annoying. She’s your wife, man! At least you have a wife AND a child on the way!” 

Robert looks at Anthony, “Tsk, tsk, Anthony, you are NOT the most popular person here today. Why is that?” 

Anthony contends himself, “I was only sharing my real feelings about the situation. Ain’t that what I’m here for - sharing my feelings?” he looks to you for guidance then continues looking back at Paul, “And you don’t know me, the shit I’ve been through. Not all relationships are great, Paul, so don’t even compare my life to yours.” 

Before you can speak up to that, you hear Robert clearing his throat, loudly, as he now stands on top of the table, looking down at everyone. 

“Robert, what are you doing?” you ask. 

He purses his lips before speaking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him, he looks at the cup of liquor in his hand and starts, “All this unnecessary fighting and yelling, is ridiculous. We are all, each and every one of us in this room, unholy creatures that have swam in the Seven Seas of sin all our lives: pride [he looks at Anthony], vanity [he looks over at Chris], envy [he looks to Paul], glutton [he looks across the room at Jeremy], wrath [he looks over to Sebastian], sloth [he looks at Tom] and greed which seems to have been made for me since I literally walked over my mother’s coffin to pickpocket some mourner’s jacket for cash to buy more drugs. But I digress. We can’t get those years of self-torture and regrets back but we can sure as Hell have fun bathing with our demons. So lighten the fuck up, buttercups!” He jumps off the table after giving his proud speech and walks over to you with a smile. 

You hug him tightly and give him a kiss on the cheek, “You always know how to make people feel better about themselves.” 

Robert shrugs it off, “Eh, I’m glad it worked for you because it didn’t seem to work well on Paul. He left the room a couple seconds ago. Maybe give him one of your ‘special talks’, huh.” 

You see that Paul is, indeed, not in sight and sigh to yourself, “Why stop now, right?” you say as you drink down the rest of your cup and head out of the room. 

You walk down the hall and hear the water faucet in the men’s room running. Slowly opening the door, you see Paul hunched over the sink counter, water faucet running hot, the steam blurring the mirror in front of him. You walk cautiously over to him and stand behind him, you call out, softly, “Paul? Are you all right?” 

He sucks in snot as he slowly turns to face you, his eyes red like he just finished crying, “Yeah...I guess.” 

Your hand touches his cheek, “Oh, Paul. I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way. I wish I could take your pain and anger away.” 

“Can I touch you?” is all he can say in a low sorrowful voice. 

Your eyebrows crease in confusion, “Touch me?” 

“I- I haven’t touched a woman since Amy...I feel like I’m going crazy, like I just want to hold someone, you know...anyone.” 

You throw your arms around Paul’s neck as he arms firmly hold you around your waist. You embrace sweetly as he inhales your hair, “You smell nice….”

“Thank you.” 

He inhales deeply again, “God, you smell good...like Amy.” 

Your eyes open wide when you realize Paul is identifying you with his deceased wife. You can feel Paul’s body tremble in your arms as his hands move down to the small of your back, pressing your body tighter into him as he muffles into your hair, “Fuck..I miss you, Amy…I miss your hair...your skin...your smell...your body pressed against me like this…”

“Um, Paul?” you ask in a small voice. 

“Amy…” he whispers into your ear, his hands trailing down your back onto your plush ass and squeezes your cheeks. “I miss your everything….” Paul suddenly grabs your ass and quickly lifts your bottom up onto the sink counter and stands between your thighs. You can feel the hot steam going up your back as it still runs in the sink beside you. Your head is whirling, what the fuck is happening to Paul? 

He breathes out, “I need to feel you again…” without breaking his firm hug onto your waist, his face still beside yours as his hand travels from your backside to the front and between your thighs to your warm, moist center. 

“Um….Paul?” is all you can manage to say when his fingers make their way up your inner thigh and into your wet hole. 

You throw your head back with a gasp while he seethes with arousal, “Ffffuck, Amy….you’re so tight...It’s been so long…” 

He slowly pumps his three fingers in and out, you writhing your hips into his hand as he continues his psychotic breakdown, “My God, you’re soaked...did I do that to you?” he asks in a calm, childish voice. 

You nod and bite your lip, play along, “Mm hmmm…” you gasp again as he picks up speed and his thumb discovers your swollen clit. “Oh-Oh shit, Paul…” 

“That’s my girl..come on...cum for me, baby,” he pushes a fourth finger in when you begin to lose it and rake your nails down his shirt and down to the front of his jeans. He bucks into your hand as you grab his erection through his pants and rub it from the outside. Paul moans and tightens his lips, rolling into your hand as his fingers pump in and out of you. You can feel yourself on the brink of orgasm when you pull out his fingers from your hole, Paul sucks on your dripping juices on his finger tips and he loses himself. He comes hard in his jeans at your taste and smell, trembling against you and the counter as he gets his strength back. His face still in between your shoulder and hair, he breathes in and regains himself. 

Paul’s hazel eyes are back to soulful, endearing and back in the present. You don’t know what to say, neither does he. It is like he’s coming back down to earth. You finally muster up something to say, “You know….as a professional, I always wanted you to get help from a better therapist than Benedict. But as a regular woman, I always hoped you’d find a wonderful woman to be in your life. And you will find her again one day. I know you will.” 

You smile at him as you hop off the sink and straighten your dress. Paul goes into his nervous jibberish mode, with a goofy grin, “Thinks for thanking of me.” 

You leave him in the bathroom to go into your office for a fresh new pair of panties - these have spent the better part of the day, soaked. With your back facing the door, you rifle through your luggage on your desk for another pair of panties when you hear your door close and lock behind you. You jump in surprise to see Chris standing in front of the closed door, a seductive smile on his bearded face. 

“Chris! What the Hell! Don’t you knock?” you grab your chest, your heart rapidly beating.

He slowly walks toward you, his hands shoved in his pockets, “You know, I notice that every time you leave the room with someone, that someone comes back extremely refreshed and nearly a different person,” he stops in front of her, looking down at your face, his eyes narrowing, “Now, why is that?”

You exhale, bothered by him, “Get out of my office, Chris.” 

He stands his ground, “Or what? You’ll call security? Robert?...Come on, [Y/N], help the needy.” 

Your drunken adrenaline kicks in as you become angry yet still aroused, “Get the fuck out of my office, Chris.” 

“Ooooh, potty-mouth. I normally don’t like a girl with a dirty mouth. I like my women quiet and subservient. Prim and proper with a bangin’ body like yours,” he leans in, his hands on either side of you on the desk, caging you in. 

“Don’t make me hurt you, Chris,” you warn, hoping he’ll try something. You really REALLY want a piece of Chris. Always have since Ben forbade you to talk to him or even compliment him due to his narcissistic ways and sex addiction. In fact, that is one of the rules. The rules you no longer have to abide by, you think to yourself. 

You think through all the courses you took on dealing with narcissists and what they like and don’t like. They love submissive women to take advantage of and they hate women who belittle them and insult their manhood. 

You arch a brow as you look up into his determined baby blues, “You really think you’re man enough for me, Christopher?” 

“I’m all man, honey. I’ll have you rolling in orgasms in five minutes,” he assures you, nose to nose with you. 

You chuckle, “Ha! Tommy is more man than you’ll ever be.” 

A blind rage seems to have crossed through Chris’ eyes, fear overtakes you when you realize you might have said the wrong thing. Chris grabs your shoulders and spins you around, forcefully, pushing you over your luggage. Your breasts pressed against your suitcase as Chris kicks your feet apart, bending over you, breathing heavily into your ear, “You stupid bitch….you’re just saying that to get me angry, aren’t you?” 

“No,” you continue to play your game, fear and adrenaline and alcohol ruling your brain, “It’s the truth. No one will ever touch me the way Tommy touches me.” 

You can hear him unbuckling his belt as he seethes in your ear, “I should make that little shit watch me as I fuck you into a coma.” He pulls up your skirt and reveals your hot pink G-string Benedict gave you for vacation.

He smiles as you wiggle your ass up at him, “Go ahead, Christopher. You know you want to…” 

Chris smoothes his beard with one hand and licks his lips before smacking your ass cheek, watching it jiggle. He shudders with desire, “I'm not gonna fuck ya...I just wanna fuck your perfect little ass.”

“Mmm, you smooth talker, you. Hurry up and do it, you little bitch!” you yell teasingly at him, wiggling your ass in anticipation once more. 

Chris whips out his long hard dick, pumping himself before making contact with your ass cheeks, rubbing it up and down along your crack. He sucks in a breath and plunges himself into your tight hole. You nearly stand straight up when he entered your asshole and settle back down. 

“FUCK, WOMAN!” he pumps in and slides out, “haven’t you ever been fucked in the ass before?!” 

“Mmmmmm, nnnnnnoooo, oooooooh, fuck!” you answer, whimpering in pleasure and pain. 

Chris continues to pump in and out in small increments trying to hold on before having to blow a load, “GOD DAMN! You feel so fucking good…Ahnnnn…” 

You grasp your luggage and try not to scream, you move your ass up toward him and he moans louder. You do it again and he moans more. You tighten your ass as hard as you could and buck into him once more and he pulls out, shooting a loud all over the back of your dress. “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh….sssshhhit.” 

You regain your posture, pulling off your G-string and shove it in Chris’ pocket as he tucks himself back in his jeans, “You can keep that. I don’t want it anymore.” 

He gives you a small smirk, “Hm, I do believe I’m cured. Thanks, [Y/N]..” he jokes as he heads his way toward the door. 

“Hey,” you call to Chris. 

“Yeah?”

“Tell everyone goodnight for me. I’m done for the day.” 

“Will do,” he opens and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in your office.

You walk over to lock the door and look at your office from where you stand. You see the blizzard white outside your windows and the sudden fear of dying alone in the office during the storm takes over your thinking. What if the storm holds you hostage without food and water for days and nobody finds your body? Worst of all, what if you’re alive when the storm is over and vicious truths spread about what you have done with your clients? And Benedict telling everyone that he was right; you’re not meant for this field of work. You just screwed up everyone’s lives with your careless behavior. Benedict was right. You were wrong. 

You go into your suitcase and change into your short black nightie and black silk robe you were suppose to be wearing for Benedict in your hotel room at San Tropez. You stand there and see your sharp letter opener laying on your desk. Your breathing halts as you stare at the 4 inch long sharp tool and snatch it, taking it into the bathroom with you as a tear rolls down your face. 

****


	6. Intervention & Dissimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't need these things  
> I didn't need them, oh  
> Pointless artifacts from  
> A mediocre past  
> So I shed my clothes, I shed my flesh  
> Down to the bone and burned the rest  
> I didn't need these things  
> I didn't need them, oh  
> Took them all to bits  
> Turned them outside in  
> And I left them on the floor  
> And ran for dear life through the door, oh  
> The useless objects, the gathered a storm of shit  
> A dim and silent shedful of your life's supplies  
> When all you need's a coffin and your Sunday best  
> To smarten up the end  
> Never need these things  
> I'll never need them, oh  
> It's just you I need  
> You're my human heat  
> For the things are only things  
> And nothing brings me like you bring me oh  
> I'll never need these things  
> I'll never need them, oh  
> Never going back  
> So we can drop the past  
> And we'll leave it on the floor  
> And run for dear life through the door, oh  
> -"Things" Frightened Rabbit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Things" by Frightened Rabbit gave me the inspiration for the final scenes and made it that much more powerful and real (for me, anyway). 
> 
> https://youtu.be/IN5iRsGukZc

You sit on the toilet seat and bring the sharp, thin letter opener to your arm, but sleeve on your silk robe keeps sliding over the knife, making it difficult to make a slice. You sob once but stop yourself as you roll up your sleeve once more and put knife to skin when someone comes crashing through your office door. It happens so fast that you don’t even notice it is Jeremy rushing over to you in the bathroom and pulls up off the toilet seat. He grabs your wrists and struggles to get the letter opener, finally knocking it out of your hand, kicking it across the bathroom tiled floor. His rough hands still grappling around your wrists as you scream, outraged, “Leave me alone! Get out!” 

“You don’t know what you’re doing, [Y/N]! You’re drunk - you don’t want to do that,” he struggles to get your arms behind your back and holds them there. 

“Yes I do! I was only going to do a small one, just a small slit. That’s it! Let...GO!” you continue to struggle against his hard body. 

“A small one, huh? A small one, then a big one, then an even bigger one, right? Just enough to make the pain go away? Cause that’ll solve all your problems, right, Doc?” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know what it’s like,” you angrily pout, trying to break free from his grip. 

Jeremy snaps back, seething, spittle sprinkling your face, “I don’t know what I’m talking about? I don’t know what it’s like?! Have you ever drank so much you blacked out and woke up somewhere you couldn’t remember how you got there? How about having alcohol poisoning not once, not twice but six times? Or how about black out drunk while driving your little niece to her dance class and CLIPPING A TRACTOR TRAILER NEARLY SEVERING HER HEAD OFF?!” You shut your eyes as tears pour down your face as he continues his fuming tirade, “SHE WALKED AROUND WITH A TRACH TUBE IN HER NECK FOR SIX MONTHS TO BREATHE,” Jeremy pauses, choking up, “AND YOU WANNA TRY THAT SORROWFUL BULLSHIT ON ME, SWEETHEART? I GOT NEWS FOR YOU, IT DOESN’T WORK ON ME. IT DOESN’T ANYONE IN THIS GODDAMN PLACE, YOU HEAR?” He shakes you once to wake you up to reality. 

He continues calmer, “You feeling sorry for yourself because Cumberbatch made you his side piece? Get real, [Y/N]! He never treated you like a person in the first place! Everyone saw that and so did you! He treated you the way you allowed him to treat you, the way you allow everyone to treat you in the last 24 hours - like you’re nothing. A quick solution to pain and personal suffering,” he loosens his grip on you and lets you breathe. “You don’t deserve to be treated the way you think you should be.” 

You furrow your brows and shake your head in disagreement.

“Oh? You don’t agree with me? How do you think you should be treated then?” he folds his arms across his chest. 

You shrug, eyes finished with the tears and now just anger, “I don’t care. I’ll be fine with whatever happens to me.” 

Jeremy points to the letter opener across the floor, “Oh, yeah? You don’t care? Obviously you do if you were feeling shitty enough about what’s been going on around here today! That’s not a coincidence, [Y/N]! That’s a cry for help.” 

You sarcastically snap back, “Thanks for the pep talk, Dad. Now get out of my office.” 

Jeremy chuckles loudly, “Dad?! I’m only ten years older than you, sugar pie. Don’t get testy with me. And, for the record, if I were your dad I’d have the mind to beat the living shit out of Big Ben and take you over my knee for not believing how much of a beautiful, loving person you truly are.” 

You roll your eyes and scoff at his remark, folding your arms over your chest now. Jeremy stares at you, stoically, his eyes studying yours. 

“Take off the robe,” he plainly tells you. 

You shake your head, “No.”

He inhales, “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Take off your robe.” 

After all the debaucherous things you’ve done in the last several hours with these men, for some reason, you felt shame and embarrassment around Jeremy. You didn’t want anyone to see your scars. You tighten the robe around you, “NO.”

Jeremy takes a step closer, sending a shiver down your spine, looking you deep in your eyes, almost with a plea in his voice this time around, “Take off your robe.” 

You take a breath and let the black silk robe drop to the floor, you quickly fold your arms into your body. Jeremy’s hands gently takes your right arm and pulls it out straight toward his body. He holds your arm straight and studies each and every one of your scars. His lips lightly grazing your marked skin, he whispers, “You’re beautiful.” 

You lightly tug your arm back but he grabs your other arm, pulling that arm out and studying those scars as well. He then brings his lips to each scar and places small delicate kisses on top of them. In between kisses, “You are more than your scars...you are more than this job....you are more than your mistakes….you are more to me than anything I’d ever hoped…” 

You gasp at his reveal as his trail of kisses go up your arm and his long tongue slithers up your scars to your shoulder and to your neck. You tilt your head to the side as a moan escapes your throat; he is sucking on your neck. 

“Jeremy…” you whimper as his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly. 

His face now in front of yours, your lips nearly touching, “For months I’ve watched you at Cumberbatch’s side, hoping that one day you’d realize how special you are to people. How much of a difference you make in their lives... In mine.” His hand cups your chin and pulls you in for a kiss. You never thought his lips would be this soft and gentle, his scruff on his lip and chin tickle your skin as you pull his face as close as you can. You don’t want to let go. This is your one true moment. Jeremy’s adoration for you is real and you can feel it this time. 

He lifts you off the floor and carries you bridal style to your office couch, placing you down gently. He pulls off his jacket and sweater, revealing his chiseled torso. You lay there stunned at his appearance, not knowing what to do with yourself. Jeremy opens your legs and kneels between them, hovering over your body as he begins to kiss you more deeply, harder as he grinds his hips into your wet spot. You wrap your legs around his hips and rack your nails down his scalp and neck, wanting more of him. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says and kisses you harder than before. It seems his touch is becoming more forceful the more aroused he becomes. And so are you. 

You kiss him harder and bite his lower lip, pulling it as he lets out a moan. He smiles down on you, “Doctor likes it rough, does she?” 

You nod as you lick your lips while Jeremy unbuckles his belt with one hand, “Well, so do I.” Jeremy pulls out his long veiny cock and strokes himself before entering your already soaking entrance.

“AH!” you yelp at his size and girth. 

“You okay?” his eyes, soft.

“Yes..God..fuck me, Jeremy,” you plead. 

He shakes in head, “No, I ain’t gonna fuck you, I’m gonna love you.” 

Your heart melts as his hips roll into your wetness, gently and slowly. Your nails scratch down his neck and bare back, you buck your hips into him, wanting more. “Oh, baby girl...slow down now..you’re gonna make this old man cum too quick.” 

You giggle and pull down your nightie that once covered your perfect bare breasts, “A little birdy told me you wanted to titty-fuck me..” 

He closes his eyes to concentrate on not coming, he laughs, “I’m gonna kill that kid…” 

“Open your eyes, Jeremy. You can have me...put that cock between my tits, squeeze them together and fuck me,” you push them together and he closes his eyes again. 

“Nope, nope, nope, I’m doing this the right way,” he bucks his hips into you again causing you to clench your pussy tight. “FUCK, yes! I want you to cum for me, Doc…..come on.” 

You grab his free hand and place it on your bouncing breast and smile, “Harder, Jeremy.” 

He thrusts harder into you sending you into a panting, mewling mess. He bites his lip and rides you harder and faster, “I can’t...can’t hold out for much longer…” 

Then it hit you like a wave of heat, the orgasm you never got finally arises in you. You scream in delight as Jeremy soon follows with his own, pulling out before ejaculating in you. 

Beads of sweat drip down the sides of Jeremy’s face as he kisses your lips and then your forehead. He stands up and buckles his pants as you stand and grab an oversized shirt to pull over your nightie. Jeremy pulls your waist into him and kisses you once more, smirking, “That whole ‘Dad’ thing...we should try acting that whole scene out one day. That’d be totally hot.” 

You throw your head back with laughter as you place your hands over his bare chest, “Mmm, definitely.” You top toe to kiss him when you hear a familiar voice where the reception desk is. It’s Dr. Jackson’s voice. 

You run out to see him covered in snow and ice, his eyes bewildered at the state of the place: garbage strewn about, a small contained fire in a trash can by the reception desk, chairs overturned.

“What the fuck did y’all get up to last night? It’s like Lord of the motherfuckin’ Flies up in here!” he yells in shock. 

You hug him, “Oh my God, Sam! How did you get here?!” 

“I got trapped in the car while driving through the Bronx and some people helped dig me out of my car. One of the guys that dug me out was actually a plow truck driver so I paid him to take me halfway into midtown to get here. Then I walked the rest --this place is a pig sty!” By the end of that sentence, Tom is heard screaming in the distance. Alarmed, all three of you run down the hall toward the frantic yelling. 

You reach the end of the hall, in the men’s room where you find Tom standing over Robert’s unconscious body, pink and white frothy bubbles oozing from his mouth, his eyes shut. Tom screams, “I came here to pee and he was on the floor convulsing and then he stopped! I don’t know what happened!” 

Dr. Jackson pushes everyone out of the way and kneels beside Robert, he clears out his mouth and begins to check for vitals. You shriek in terror as Jeremy holds you close and Dr. Jackson begins mouth to mouth CPR and chest compressions. After five minutes, he stops, looks up at you and doesn’t say anything but shake his head. A shrill scream comes out of you and you push Dr. Jackson away from Robert, kneeling over him, you cradle his head in your lap crying, “Nononononononoooo. Pleeeease..pleeeease, nooo…” 

Jeremy finds a small vial, a syringe and a bent metal spoon a foot away from Robert’s body and frowns, “A ‘speed ball’. Coke and heroin mix….shit..” 

You don’t hear anything as you clutch Robert’s limp head to your chest, sobbing uncontrollably as all the guys look down at you, grief in their eyes. 

“It’s not true….,” you sob, “he was sober for 25 years- IT’S NOT TRUE!” 

Dr. Jackson kneels next to you and places a hand on your shoulder, calmly, “He’s been doing this for months now, [Y/N].”

“FUCK YOU!” you scream rocking Robert’s head back and forth with your body.

“Why do you think he was always going to the bathroom, huh? He had a life-long problem, [Y/N],” Dr. Jackson sternly said. 

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM!”

“Because you can’t help someone who doesn’t want help, kid! He was lying to you the whole time. And he was lying to himself. He wasn’t clean for a while. I’m sorry.” 

Your spit and snot are dripping down onto Robert’s face and you don’t care. You don’t care about anything. You beg one more time, “Robert? Robert? Hey...please...please wake up….” you shout in his pale face, “WAKE UP!” 

***  
It took several hours for the medical examiner to get through snow and traffic to come and take Robert’s body away. And in those several hours of waiting for the M.E., you slept at Robert’s hardened corpse’s side, covering you both with a blanket ‘in case he gets cold,’ you told Jeremy. 

Once the police and medical examiner wheeled his body away in a stretcher, everyone made sure to hide all sharp and breakable objects from you until everyone was cleared to be able to leave the building the next day. You slept in the men’s room floor on the spot where Robert’s body was lying until it was time to go home. 

The blizzard is over. 

****  
Epilogue  
****

You pull the hem of your black pencil skirt over your knees as you sit in the front pew of St. Bartholomew’s church. It’s a week later and you are sitting in between Jeremy who is holding your hand and Tom, who is sobbing uncontrollably, his head leaning on your shoulder. You are sitting up straight, stoic, looking at Robert’s made up body that lay in his oak coffin, dressed in a nicely pressed black suit and tie. His hair is perfectly coiffed, facial hair on point. It just looks like he is napping; you’re prepared for him to sit up any minute, saying he was just ‘keeping you on your toes’. But he won’t. 

Chris, Dr. Jackson, Sebastian, Paul and Anthony sit side by side behind you. Robert didn’t have any family members left nor any friends that weren’t already dead from overdosing themselves or locked away in a state prison somewhere. The elderly priest speaks at the podium next to Robert’s casket, religious gibberish you couldn’t hear over the white noise in your head. You’ve cried so much that week that you ran out of tears and feeling anything all together. Jeremy has been staying with you to make sure you’d be safe and lock up all your sharp objects and delicate things. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t do it again. You promised Robert you wouldn’t. 

[YouTube “Things” by Frightened Rabbit  
https://youtu.be/IN5iRsGukZc ]

As you stare emotionless at Robert’s face from your seat, you can hear Robert’s voice. You can hear the speech he gave at the party:  
“We are all, each and every one of us in this room, unholy creatures that have swimmed in the Seven Seas of sin all our lives... We can’t get those years of self-torture and regrets back but we can sure as Hell have fun bathing with our demons…”

Something inside you clicks, this burst of energy and defiance and, strangely, joy. You jump out from your seat, startling Tom and Jeremy and take off running down the church aisle. You fling your heels off as you run toward the middle of the church where a medium sized baptismal tub filled with holy water sits. You giggle maniacally as you start to strip off your black funeral clothes. 

“What the --” Jeremy runs toward you. Everyone else runs after him to stop you, the priest in utter shock. 

You strip down to your bra and panties and jump into the baptismal tub, splashing around, ‘bathing with your demons’. The guys try to pull you out but all you do is laugh and splash holy water at them. 

Sebastian shrugs, “What the Hell, right?” And begins stripping off his black clothing. Anthony looks at Paul and so do they. 

“Guys!” Jeremy begs them as Tom and Chris jump in the tight tub with their clothes on, everyone laughing hysterically splashing about in the blessed water. He just stands by and keeps close watch on you all like the studious father figure. 

The priest frozen in horror stands by Robert’s casket with Dr. Jackson by his side. Dr. Jackson pulls out a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the priest, “Let them have this, Padre. They need it.” 

***  
Summer  
***

Jeremy, Tom, Chris, Sebastian, Anthony, Paul and you stand in the sunny shores of Coney Island, side by side. Each of you are wearing Robert’s signature black sunglasses as you let the cool salty beach water wash over your feet when you pull out a bag filled with Robert’s ashes from a box. With the sun shining brightly over your bodies, warming you like a big hug, you take a deep breath and pour Robert’s ashes over the small waves on the shore. A tear rolls down your cheek as Jeremy’s arm holds you around your waist. You wrap your arm around Tom’s shoulder as he begins to sob, sniffles coming from the guys beside you as you all stand in silence watching the peaceful waves take Robert away from you. You sigh as you all start to walk off shore when a huge wave comes from behind, drenching you all, nearly knocking you down. You scream in surprise when Anthony yells, “He did it! Robert just HAD to have the last laugh...Dickhead!” 

Paul freaks out, wiping his shoulder, “Ah! I’ve got Robert on me! Get him off!” 

“HE’S IN MY EYE!” Tom laughs. 

“I think he’s in my mouth--yuuugh!” Sebastian spits onto the sand. 

You smile, letting the sun warm your face, lifting your head up high to the sky, you say, “Thank you.”  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't have written on such addictions and topics out of my ass. I have attended many meetings in the last 3 years since my attempt at my own life and I've met and seen and felt many people's stories from these meetings. If it weren't for these meetings (of 12 Step or community gatherings) I would not be here writing stories and sharing my imagination with you guys.  
> I will forever appreciate every comment (good or bad) and kudos I get from everyone throughout the years. It is you, the readers, who are always so supportive and understanding and loving and I'd like to say thank you. It means the world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and thanks for all the awesome support you have all given me in the past and present. And thank you for all your concerns and emails that I never got to reply to up until recently. Things have been hard and I thank you guys for being there.


End file.
